


Goalkeeper For My Heart

by NaughtySammyBoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Coach!Sam, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, First Date Humor, It's not hella descriptive or very long though, basically this entire thing is just cute and funny, there's a steamy makeout session tho, with just a smidgen of sexy time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtySammyBoy/pseuds/NaughtySammyBoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you show up for your niece's first pee wee soccer game, you're enthralled by more than just the scoreboard. And everyone around you seems to play a special part in making things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goalkeeper For My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm sure everyone is starting to realize that I go on these writing binges where I just throw a long ass, single-chapter story together (Does _Red Plus Blue Makes Purple_ ring any bells??) Well, this AU is no exception. Mainly because I've gotten to the point with _New Beginnings_ where I've hit a road block and can seem to get inspired to write anymore of it right now. It's like I have writer's block . . . but I don't? I just have it with _New Beginning_ will is hella sad because I've really enjoyed that story. So, to those who are patiently waiting for the next chapter, please forgive me for being such a slacker with it. Anyway, before this shit gets longer than it already is, enjoy my newest AU! (I'm such a slut for SPN AU's tbh)

"Are you coming to Lydia's game on Saturday?" Your sister asks as she crunches on a carrot stick from the vegetable tray you had set out during snack time— _keep it healthy_ , she'd said when she dropped Lydia off earlier for you to babysit.  
  
"Duh," you scoff with a laugh, giving her a face before picking up a few strewn toys in the living room. "It's the first game of the season, Darce," you say, "There's not a place in this world I'd rather be."  
  
"Great!" Darcy claps, jumping down from the breakfast bar to help you stow away the mountain of building blocks Lydia had spilled all over the carpet. "Just _wait_ until you see the coach," she gushes, emptying her hands into the toy box you'd bought a couple of years ago, "He is all kinds of scrumptious!"  
  
"Darce, aren't you—oh, I don't know— _married_?" You chuckle, shaking your head as you pick up various stuffed animals.  
  
"So _what_? Just because I'm _married_ , I'm not allowed to _look_?" She scoffs, standing up straight with her hands on her hips. "It keeps things between me and Dave spicy," she shrugs, "He gets to check out bimbos and I get to check out the studs. It's the twenty-first century, sis, times are a'changin'."  
  
"Whatever," you laugh, still not over the fact that _Darcy_ married a _Dave_. Match made in heaven or _what_? "Just . . . save me a seat on Saturday."  
  
"Will do," Darcy salutes before heading for the room Lydia's napping in, "Front row, right in the middle. Perfect viewing for the head coach's . . . _assets_ to the game."  
  
"Oh _god_ ," you groan, " _Please_ stop talking."

* * *

 

  
  
"Shit, shit, _shit_!" You curse under your breath, jogging towards the bleachers like an idiot. You were running late for the game thanks to your stupid alarm clock. Damn thing's going to be the end of you. "Sorry I'm late!" You say when you finally sit beside Darcy, huffing out an annoyed sound.  
  
"No problem," she smiles, patting your knee, "The game's a bit delayed since the away team _just_ got here."  
  
You sigh in relief, eyes scanning the field for Lydia. She's only six years old, and has a mess of brunet ringlets on her head that are pulled up into a puffy ponytail with a grin that's missing two front teeth, her small cleated-foot clumsily kicking a soccer ball to another teammate. "She looks so cute!" You gush, your heart melting at the way the red uniform looks a little big on her tiny frame.  
  
"She's so excited," Darcy tells you, "She was up at the crack of dawn this morning, dressed and everything."  
  
You smile at the thought. If there was anything you loved most in this world, it was your niece. However, there's a sight that catches your eye instead of Lydia. A tall, easily six-foot man standing on the sidelines with his back facing the crowd, wearing a red t-shirt that has **COACH** stamped across the shoulders and a pair of fitted khaki pants that enhance his backside in the most jaw-dropping way. You admire the way his long hair blows in the wind.  
  
"Is that—" You try to ask Darcy, your eyes fixed on him.  
  
"Yep," she smirks, "That's Sam."  
  
"Well," you smirk back, "I have to admit, he sure looks good from the back."  
  
"Wait 'til you see the front," she snickers, leaning in so only you can hear. You giggle with her, the two of you acting like a bunch of immature school girls.  
  
"What are you two whispering and giggling about?" Dave asks with a knowing grin, leaning forward so you can see him on Darcy's other side.  
  
"Oh, nothing," you say innocently, "Hi, Dave."  
  
"We were just discussing what the odds are of us winning this game," Darcy says, shooting you a wink before turning to place a kiss on Dave's lips.  
  
"Mhmm," he hums with a smirk and humorously narrowed eyes, "Sure ya were."  
  
You bite back a laugh as a blush warms your cheeks, your eyes focusing back on the man in question. You damn near gasp when he finally turns around to scan the people in the stands. He's _gorgeous_. Stunning. And your chest nearly explodes when he meets your eyes and gives you a polite smile and a short nod of his head before turning back around.   
  
The game starts a few minutes later, the field filled with red uniforms and blue ones. You zone in on Lydia who's running down the field with the ball in front of her, her little head looking down in concentration as she watches her feet. "Go, doodle bug!" You shout with a laugh, clapping your hands. Darcy chuckles beside you. "What?" You question her.  
  
"You sure are trying to get the attention of a certain hunk," she smirks.  
  
You scoff. "I am _not_ ," you say with a smothered smile, "I'm just cheering on my niece."  
  
"Okay," she shrugs, eyes focusing back on the game, "Whatever you say, little sister."  
  
Your gaze travels to Sam once again. His hands are on his hips and he's shouting out directions in a honey-smooth voice. _Pass the ball! No, Tommy, to **our** team! That's it! Let's go all the way!_ You can't help but admire how into it he is, throwing up his hands when the other team gets the ball and encouraging his own when they steal it back. You wonder how he got into coaching pee wee soccer. Was it an extra-curricular thing? Did he do it because he loved the game? And did he _always_ look this good?  
  
Your thoughts are interrupted when Darcy jumps to her feet and screams, "Go, baby, go! Oh my _god_ , she's gonna score, my baby's gonna make a goal!" You look out onto the field and see Lydia steaming towards the opposing net, trying to keep the ball in her possession.  
  
"Go, Lydia!" You shout, rising to your feet as well. You watch with rapt attention as she lines up the shot and kicks the hell out of the ball, whizzing right past the goaltender who's a bit _too_ slow to stop it. "Oh my _god_!" You turn towards Darcy, the two of you jumping up and down as you scream with excitement along with everyone else. "She did it! My niece scored the first goal of the season!" You turn towards the field, bouncing and clapping as Lydia beams with happiness and is huddled into a circle with her little team as they celebrate. "That's my girl! That's _my_ niece!"  
  
You're too wrap up in shouting and giving Lydia two thumbs up to notice the way Sam's turned his head to look at you, a laugh on his lips as he claps. He admires your enthusiasm and pride.  
  
Lydia's team ends up winning 1-0. You immediately scoop her up when she comes barreling towards you with a big, gappy grin. "Did you see me, aunt Y/N?!" She beams, her tiny hands squeezing your shoulders as she kicks her feet giddily.  
  
"I saw!" You smile, giving her silly kisses on her cheeks, loving how she giggles and tries to push your head away. "You did so good, doodle bug," you tell her, "I'm so proud of you!"  
  
Lydia's flushed face lights up when she's says, "Coach Sammy said it was the best goal he's ever seen!"  
  
"Did he?" You grin, "Well, you go tell Coach Sammy congrats on the win for me." You place her back down on her feet.  
  
"Okay!" She shrugs.

* * *

 

  
Sam's talking to a few of the parents about the game when he feels someone tug on the leg of his pants, a tiny voice saying, "Coach Sammy! Coach Sammy!" He smiles when he looks down to see Lydia, a big grin on her face. He crouches down in front her and asks, "What's up, super star?"  
  
"My aunt Y/N told me to tell you con'rats on the win," she tells him with wide eyes. "Can I tell you a secret?" She whispers after a few seconds, leaning in so only he can hear, a funny look on her face.  
  
"Sure," Sam smiles, "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."  
  
"My aunt Y/N thinks you're cute," Lydia tells him with a giggle.  
  
Sam can't help but chuckle, a deep grin stretching his lips. "Oh, really?" He questions.  
  
"Yeah!" Lydia smiles. "But don't tell her I told you that," she says in a serious voice, "It's'a secret, 'member?"  
  
Sam makes a show of pretending to zip his lips and throw away the nonexistent key. "I won't tell a soul," he smiles, ruffling her hair before standing back to his feet, his eyes looking over at where you're talking to Darcy and Dave, smiling and using exaggerated hand motions. "I'll see you at practice tomorrow," he tells Lydia, "Eight o'clock sharp."  
  
"Okay," Lydia jumps up and down with excitement, "Bye, Coach Sammy!"  
  
"Bye, super star," he grins down at her, watching as she runs back over to you where you're holding your hand out for her to take. His stomach flips when you look over at him and give a little goodbye wave, smiling at him before retreating off the field with a hyper Lydia tugging you along.

* * *

  
  
"I hate to ask," Darcy says to you as you're all walking to the parking lot. "But do you think you can bring Lydia to practice tomorrow morning?" She asks, a pleading look in her eyes. "I have to work and Dave's driving up to see his mom in the morning, so neither if can do it," she explains, "You'd be doing me a huge favor."  
  
"When am I _not_ doing you a favor?" You smirk playfully, snickering when she shoots you an unamused expression. "Sure," you finally say, rolling your eyes as you ask, "What time is practice?"  
  
"Eight on the dot," Darcy answers, picking up Lydia and placing her in her booster chair in the back seat of her SUV.  
  
"Eight? In the _morning_?" You scoff, "You mean, I have to _actually_ be up at that early?"  
  
"Oh, puh- _lease_ ," Darcy chuckles as she fastens Lydia in, "Wait until you're a mom. You'll be lucky if you get to sleep 'til six."  
  
You shudder at the thought because to be honest, sleep was your best friend.  
  
"Please, aunt Y/N!" Lydia pleads in the cutest voice, kicking her feet and clasping her tiny hands together as she gives you _the look_. The one where she's pushing out her bottom lip and batting her eyes. The one you can _never_ say no to no matter _how_ hard you tried.  
  
"Fiiine," you drone, tipping your head back and groaning. You let yourself smile when Lydia yips out happily and claps her hands.   
  
"Great," Darcy says as she grabs your shoulders. "Um, it was supposed to be my turn to provide the snacks for tomorrow so um . . . " She stops to smile, patting your shoulders. "You'll have to do that, too."  
  
"Jeeze," you chuckle, "What do I look like? Mary friggin' Poppins?"  
  
"No, you look like my dorky little sister," she snickers, "Who I love _oh_ so dearly."  
  
"Mhmm," you hum in amusement, "You only love me because I'm savin' your ass." You hear Lydia gasp then giggle.  
  
"Language," Darcy hisses, biting back a laugh. "But yes," she shrugs, lowering her voice when she adds, "You _are_ saving my perfect Pilates'ed butt."  
  
"Oh _god_."

* * *

  
  
The next morning, you have to force yourself out of bed. You grumble under your breath when you read 6:25 on the clock perched on the bedside table, the red, fluorescent numbers mocking you ruthlessly. "It's too damned early," you whine to yourself, begrudgingly tearing the warm blankets off and throwing your legs over the edge of your mattress. "It's for Lydia," you remind yourself in a mumble, needing to give yourself a pep-talk if you're _ever_ going to make it.  
  
Once you've quickly showered and gotten dressed, you leave to pick up a ‘ _way too cheery for it to be seven-fifteen in the morning’_ Lydia, who's donned in a freshly washed uniform with a backpack tossed over her shoulders. You kiss her forehead as you buckle her in, laughing when she presses her lips to your cheek and blows to give you a sloppy raspberry kiss.  
  
"What kind of snacks should we get?" You ask her once you've entered to the grocery store, the six year old sat in the cart with her hands up like she's driving it through the aisles. She'd graciously reminded you she's not a baby anymore and doesn't _want_ to seat in the _baby seat_.  
  
"I think we should get goldfish and apple juice," she says, turning to look at you with a hopeful grin. "Mama always gets celery and carrots," she tells you, sticking her tongue out a making a sound of disgust. "Everyone would love you if you got goldfish, aunt Y/N," she tries to persuade you.  
  
"Everyone, huh?" You question, trying _not_ to buy into her ‘ _way too smart to be six’_ antics.  
  
"Yeah," she smiles, showcasing the adorable gap where her big girl teeth are just starting to pop through her gums. "Coach _Sammy_ likes goldfish, too," she informs you with raised eyebrows and a mischievous look flashing across her little face, "They're his _favorite_."  
  
"Is that so?" You chuckle, wheeling the cart down the aisle lined with all types of junky snack foods. Lydia nods her head quickly, bringing her chubby hands up to cover her mouth as she dissolves into a fit of giggles.  
  
Needless to say, you _did_ buy a huge box of individually snack-sized bags of goldfish and enough packages of assorted juice boxes to quench the thirst of a small army. You finally make it to the field—only five minutes late, which is _a lot_ better than you'd anticipated considering Lydia kept grabbing things and tossing them into the cart to eat up more time.  
  
You watch her run to meet her team on the sidelines, hands loaded down with so many candy bars, that Darcy would have a heart attack if she saw. "You feeding my player sugar before practice?" You hear a voice sound from behind you, making you turn on your heels to find the source. You're met with glimmering hazel eyes and an amused smile.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sorry," you chuckle nervously, "She has a way of roping me into giving her whatever she asks for." You flail on the inside when a deep, rich laugh falls from his lips. "And, uh, s-sorry we're late," you apologize, cursing yourself for stumbling on your words like an idiot.  
  
"It's no big deal," he assures you with a gracious tone, "I'm not _that_ big of time nazi. It is just pee wee soccer." You give him a smile, nodding as you look down at the green grass beneath your feet when you feel a blush climbing up into your cheeks. "They usually just run around and chase butterflies," he tells you, "It's rare that they _actually_ listen to me and practice."  
  
"That's kids for you, I guess," you laugh as you meet his eyes, gathering your bearings and holding a hand out to him, "I'm Y/N, by the way. I'm Lydia's aunt."  
  
"Sam," he reciprocates, taking your hand and shaking it firmly, "Lydia's told me a lot about you." There's a smile on his lips that says there's something he knows that you don't.  
  
"All good, I hope," you laugh lightly, stomach erupting with a fuzzy-warmth at the feeling of the roughened skin of his hand against yours. "She tends to say the craziest of things," you inform him, "I can only imagine what she's told you."  
  
"Nothing bad," he chuckles, his smile all types of gorgeous, "Nothing _too_ crazy."  
  
You nod stupidly, realizing that your hand is still tucked in his. You clear your throat as you pull it away, giving him an idiotic smile and laughing in an even _more_ idiotic and nervous way. _Get a grip_ , you mentally scold yourself. "I'm uh," you stammer as you tear your gaze away from his, gesturing to the bleachers with one hand as a scarlet warmth fills your cheeks, "Just gonna go . . . sit . . . over there." _Good_ , you scoff inwardly, _totally **not** obvious, you blethering imbecile._  
  
You turn away from him before he could reply, walking to the stands with your tail tucked between your legs and scowl directed towards yourself on your lips. "Idiot," you mumble under your breath as you take a seat on the cool metal of the front riser. "The dude _actually_ talks to you and you make an ass of yourself," you tell yourself in a quiet, reprimanding voice, ignoring the confused expression the soccer mom next you throws in your direction.  
  
Sam gathers the team near you, listing off the things they need to work on and giving out orders. "Jamie," he points to a boy with cropped dirty blonde hair and wide emerald eyes, "You're playing goalkeeper today."  
  
"Okay, Uncle Sam!" The boy grins up at Sam. One of his front teeth is missing and he's bouncing in place so enthusiastically that it melts your heart. _He has a nephew?_ "Daddy's been helpin' me practice at home," he tells Sam with an excited voice, "He said I'm better than you were at my age!"  
  
Sam chuckles as he shakes his head. "Well, I guess we'll see, won't we?" He questions Jamie playfully before pointing at Lydia. "Okay, super star," he says, making you gush pathetically, "Since you won the game for us yesterday, you're gonna be our lead runner of the ball for the next one."  
  
"Yes!" Lydia shouts, jumping up and down as she claps her hands, graciously excepting the high-fives her fellow teammates offer. _She's so hyper_ , you think with a chuckle, _candy was such a bad idea_. "Aunt Y/N!" She calls out, seeking you out and giving you a wide grin. "Did you hear that?" She shouts, "Coach Sammy made _me_ the leader!"  
  
"Way to go, doodle bug!" You shout back with a double thumbs-up, chuckling when Lydia rolls her eyes at the nickname in the most theatrical way. All sass, that one. You catch Sam's eye and he's grinning like a fool, and you shrug in response as you give him a smile.  
  
"Alright!" He turns his attention back to the team as he claps his hands together. "I wanna see good formations, guys," he says, "Let's go!" Little bodies file out onto the field, shoving each other and laughing like maniacs when one topples over. "Hey!" Sam shouts his reprimand in a stern voice that sends a shiver up your spine, "No horseplay on the field!"  
  
A chorus of _sorry, Coach Sammy's_ come from the team as they hold back their little snickers and take their places—with the cutest little game faces you've ever seen in your life. You watch them run, frolic, pass and kick, following Sam's every direction and celebrating when they get a play right. And the whole time, your attention always gets drawn to Sam, admiring the way he looks in gym shorts, a loose t-shirt, and a pair of nice tennis shoes. _God_ , you inwardly sigh, _this man is truly a work of art._  
  
"Son of a bitch!"   
  
"James Dean Winchester! Watch your mouth!" A female voice sounds from behind you, and you turn to look at her, your eyes wide as you laugh. "Sorry," she tells you with a nervous smile, moving to slide down beside you, "He's got his father's potty mouth."  
  
"It's okay," you tell her, "Lydia's dabbled in the language a few times herself."   
  
"Really?" The woman asks, sounding relieved. "Me and Dean are trying this whole _let him fly and see where he goes_ approach to parenting, and well," she chuckles as she tosses her blonde hair back over her shoulder, "He's picked up on things I'd rather he not." Her deep-honey eyes meet yours and she holds out a hand to you. "Name's Jo Harvelle," she says, but quickly adds, "Well, Winchester now."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Jo," you smile as you shake her hand, "I'm Y/N."  
  
"Oh, yeah!" She perks up. "You're Darcy's sister, aren't you?"  
  
"Only on the days that I claim her," you laugh. Jo's personality is drawing you in and you feel like you've known her your whole life.  
  
She shares the laugh with you. "You're funny," she smiles, "Now I see why she's been talkin' you up to me."  
  
"Huh? What do you mean _talking me up_?" You ask, slightly confused.  
  
"She's been tryin' to get me to set you up with my brother-in-law Sam," she smirks and you die on the inside, completely and _utterly_ mortified.   
  
"Oh god," you groan dramatically, bringing your hands up to cover your face and your embarrassment. "I'm gonna kill her," you say into your palms, chuckling nervously when you pull them away and pout at Jo. "She's _always_ weaseling her way into my personal life."  
  
"That's what sisters do," Jo smiles warmly, "And don't worry," she pats your knee, "I haven't pitched the idea to Sam yet, I actually wanted to meet you in person before I did."  
  
Okay, you can't breathe. Yep, your lungs are _definitely_ doing you a disservice right now. "You did?" You squeak, cheeks hotter than the sun and eyes wider than saucers.  
  
"Mhmm," Jo nods, biting back a humored grin. "Sam's been single for a while," she tells you, "Me and Dean have tried countless times to edge him into the waters, but he's a stubborn one. So, when Darcy mentioned you, I wanted to meet you for myself."  
  
"So, in other words," you smile, "You wanted to size me up?"  
  
"Basically," Jo shrugs, her laugh rich and contagious. "You seem like a great girl," she says with unfaltering sincerity, "And I only want the best for Sam. He's like my little brother, and I want to see him actually put himself out there into the dating world again."  
  
You nod, smothering the giddy fit of fluttery giggles that are scratching at your throat, just begging to be expelled in the most embarrassing way. "Well," you shrug, trying to seem calm and relaxed in manner, "I wouldn't mind a date with him. From what I can tell, he's a great guy."  
  
"He really is," Jo nods with a bright smile, "I think you two will hit it off quite well."  
  
That's it. You've died and gone to heaven. Sam, the gorgeous small time soccer coach, may _actually_ be in your field after all. _This **has** to be a dream_ , you think, _there's no way a girl like **me** can end up with a beautiful masterpiece like **that**_. "Cool," you tell Jo, "I'll give you my number to pass on to Sam, just tell him to call me if he's interested."  
  
"Great!" Jo claps enthusiastically, accepting the card you pull out of your cross-body bag that has your name and cell phone number written across it. "You won't regret it," she grins, "I promise."  
  
Soon after your intriguing conversation with Jo, you're flanked by tiny bouncing bodies shouting, "Snacks! Snacks! Snacks!" You chuckle as you corral them into a more calm state, passing out packages of goldfish and boxes of apple or grape juice. You can't help but laugh when Sam comes striding up, playfully snatching a bag of goldfish from the box as he says, "These are my favorite."  
  
"Told ya!" Lydia quips sassily from her squatted position beside you, her mouth purpled by the grape juice she's sucking up through a straw. You let yourself chuckle at her cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor, shaking your head as you look up at Sam, who's shoveling the cheesy fish-shaped crackers into his mouth like all the kids are and chugging an apple juice box. _Wow_ , you think, _this guy's the cutest thing since the button_.

* * *

  
  
"You gotta call her, Sammy," Dean comments from his place at the stove where he's cooking up bacon in a grease-popping frying pan.  
  
"I don't know," Sam sighs, flipping the card Jo had handed him that morning between his fingers as he sits at the bar attached to the giant island in the center of the kitchen, his chin propped up on his free hand as he reads your name with unsure eyes.  
  
"Come _on_ ," Dean says dramatically, moving to flip the pancakes that are fluffing up on a warm skillet next to the stove. "Jo said she talked to her at practice the other day," Dean tells him, "Said she was _totally_ up to the idea of goin' on a date with you."  
  
"Yeah, but—"  
  
"Nope!" Dean interrupts him carelessly. "You're not gonna find an excuse not to call this girl," he turns towards his little brother, "You've been moping around talkin' about how you want to get back in the dating scene, so you're calling her."  
  
"But, Dean—"  
  
"Sam," Dean sighs, completely exasperated. "Look, I know you're still hung up on the split from Madison," he starts, swiping a hand down his face, "But it's been over a year, little brother, and Jo thinks this girl could be what you need to get over it."  
  
"I am _not_ hung up on Madison," Sam bristles at the mention of his _very_ ex-wife, who had demanded a divorce after she'd come back from her 'business trip' to Cancun last year. Sure, Sam had been devastated, but he'd seen it coming when she started spending longer hours at the office and barely touched him when she got home, coming up with _blatantly_ false excuses as to why she'd been so distant.  
  
"Okay, great!" Dean claps his hands, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Then there's absolutely _no_ reason you shouldn't take this girl on a date," he says, sounding annoyingly jolly, "Right?" He quirks a brow and stares Sam down, in the way that makes him feel uncomfortable.  
  
"Right," Sam nods, "You're absolutely right."  
  
"That's what I like to hear," Dean smirks, turning back to the stove as he says, "So call her . . . right now. Before you change your mind."  
  
"Like . . . now, _now_?" Sam questions dumbly. He throws his hands up in defense when Dean gives him a serious bitch-face, _completely_ unamused. "Okay, okay, _fine_ ," Sam scoffs, pulling his phone from his pocket, quickly sliding it unlocked and dialing your number. "It's ringing, you asshole," Sam hisses to Dean, who just chuckles as he plates the breakfast he'd been slaving over.  
  
"Speaker! Speaker!" Dean shouts in a hurried whisper, placing the food down on the bar and pulling himself up to sit on it, body turned to face Sam who scrambles like an idiot to put the speaker phone on.  
  
"Hello?" Your unsure voice fills the kitchen, making both the brothers stiffen in anticipation.  
  
"U-um, h-hi," Sam stammers, slapping a hand to his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he asks, "Is this Y/N?"  
  
"Smooth," Dean mumbles under his breath, earning him a tossed up middle finger from Sam.  
  
"Yeah, this is she," you answer with a chuckle, "And who is this?"  
  
"This is Sam," Sam says, "Uh, Lydia's soccer coach?"  
  
"Oh! Hi, Sam! I was actually waiting for your call," you tell him. Dean gives Sam a thumbs-up, mouthing 'you're in.'  
  
"Oh, haha, really?" Sam asks nervously, shrugging and inconspicuously hissing 'I don't know' when Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head, mouthing 'are you serious?'  
  
"Yeah," you giggle sweetly, making Sam melt right into the barstool he's perched upon, "I gave my number to Jo to give to you, so you could call if you were interested in going out some time."  
  
"Y-Yeah, she mentioned that," Sam chuckles, eyes locked on Dean’s as he encouraged his little brother on with exaggerated hand movements. "I was actually calling to ask if you were interested . . . in going on a date," he stops to clear his throat, "Um, yanno . . . with me?" Dean slaps a hand to his face theatrically, trying to hold back a loud laugh at how flustered Sam is right now.  
  
"I'd love to!" Your enthusiastic voice fills Dean's kitchen, making both the Winchester's perk up immediately.  
  
"R-Really?" Sam asks with a nervous laugh, looking at Dean who's giving him a deadpanned look that says _are you for real right now?_ "I uh—I mean great!" Sam corrects himself quickly, not as smoothly as either him _or_ Dean would have liked. "How about Friday night at say . . . seven?" Sam asks, swatting Dean's hand away when he tries to clap him on the shoulder, obviously beaming with pride and thrumming with excitement. _You'd think **he** was the one going out with her_ , Sam thinks with a smile.  
  
"Sounds awesome," you say, "I'll text you my address. See you Friday, Sam."  
  
"Seven sharp," Sam replies with an uncontrolled grin, ignoring Dean's dramatic eye roll, "Bye, Y/N."  
  
"Bye, Sam."  
  
Sam's thumb hasn't even tapped the end call button before Dean is whopping and hollering, jumping around the kitchen as he shouts "Sammy's got a date! Sammy's got a daaate!" in a sing-song way.  
  
"Wha’s goin' on?" A tiny, sleep-disheveled Jamie mumbles as he rubs at one of his tired eyes and yawns. He squeals and giggles when Dean quickly swoops him up in his arms with ease, tickling at his sides as he continues his own rendition of a song that he'd only _just_ made up.  
  
"If he pees his pants, _you're_ cleanin' it up, Winchester," Jo chuckles as she walks in and drops a kiss to Jamie's head before moving to Dean, pressing her lips into his as their son makes fake gagging noises and openly exclaims his disgust.  
  
Sam inwardly sighs at the sight of them all together, his hopes and dreams of having a family of his own hanging in his chest and making his ribs ache deeply. He'd thought he'd found it with Madison, and he wonders if he'll _ever_ have it. He drowns his sorrows in eggs, bacon, pancakes and toast, putting on a brace face so his brother's family doesn't see the gloom that's suddenly taken him captive. He thinks about you, noticing how the thought of taking you on a date eases him out, releasing the tightness of his chest and making him smile into his orange juice.

* * *

  
  
"What the _hell_ do I even wear?!" You exclaim to Darcy, who's having an all-out laughing fit at the way you're scrambling through your walk-in closet wearing nothing but your frilly, _totally_ overpriced matching undergarment set. "Dee, I'm _serious_!" You shout, seconds from having an emotional breakdown. "I haven't been on a date since high school!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Bucky Andrews, I _know_ ," she chuckles, throwing herself down onto your bed, "He was all tongue and no personality."  
  
"Exactly!" You cry, tossing out various articles of clothing that just do _not_ scream _first date material_! "That was the worst date of my entire life," you say, sifting through hangers like a crazy person, "It's what scared me away from the whole dating scene, Darce."  
  
"And it's why you're slowly-but-surely turning into a spinster— _yes_ —you've told me this a million times over the last _decade_ ," she sighs, "But Sam'll be different, sis, trust me."  
  
"You think?" You pout at her, a glint of hope in your wide eyes as you hold a sweater against your chest, twisting it nervously in your hands.  
  
"I _know_ it," she says seriously, sitting on the edge of your meticulously made-up bed. "Now," she smirks like cat, "I think you should wear the red dress with the nude pumps I've been trying to steal from you."  
  
"The _red_ dress?!" You question with an incredulously slack jaw. "Won't that make it seem like I'm trying just a _bit_ too hard? It's the first date, for chrissake!"    
  
"Y/N, you're going on a date with a _man_ ," Darcy tells you, emphasizing that last word harshly, "So you need to look like an empowered, classy woman, one who knows she's hot shit and isn't afraid to show it."  
  
"What'd you wear on your first date with Dave?" You ask her.  
  
Darcy smirks. "A thong and a smile," she says, making you cringe at the mental image. "Which is why I currently have a six year old," she adds with a smile, " _Totally_ worth it."  
  
"So . . . you're saying _I_ should wear a thong and a smile?" You chuckle.  
  
"No," she chuckles as she shakes her head, " _I'm_ saying you should get your ass into the red dress 'cause it's almost seven o'clock and Sam's gonna be here any minute."  
  
"Shit!" You screech, looking at the clock on your bedside table and finding a glaring 6:54 staring right back, red and _mocking_. "Shit, shit, shit," you curse under your breath when the doorbell rings a few seconds later, hurrying back into your closet and pulling down the hanger with the red dress on it.  
  
"I'll get it!" Darcy sing-songs, jumping from the bed.  
  
" _Please_ don't embarrass me, Dee!" You plead from your closet, but it's too late—she's already closing in on the front door with a mischievous snicker on her lips.  
  
"Sam!" She greets him with a smile when she finds on the other side, a bouquet of dainty flowers in his hands.  
  
"Um, h-hi, Darcy," he greets back, his face screwed up in a confused way. "Is—Is Y/N here?" He asks, eyes slanted and mouth slack with the question.  
  
"Yep, she’s still getting ready," Darcy says, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him inside the house. "You know how girls can be," she croons, tugging him towards the small but quaint living room, "Poor thing's so nervous, wants to make a good impression."  
  
Sam chuckles nervously, heaving a sharp exhale when Darcy shoves him down onto the couch and tells him she'll be right back.   
  
"Oh. My. _God_!" You hear Darcy gush as she walks into your closet to find you. "He looks _so_ good," she tells you with a dreamy look in her eyes, "And so _sweet_! He brought flowers, Y/N. _Flowers_."  
  
"Really?" You smile girlishly as you bend over to put your pumps on, smoothing out the satiny dress as you stand back to your feet.  
  
"Damn, bitch," Darcy gawks, eyes sizing you up, "You look _good_."  
  
"You're sweet, but I don't swing that way," you tease, moving around her to exit your closet and spritz your body with sweet-smelling perfume, giving yourself a good glance over in the full-length mirror next to your chest-of-drawers.  
  
"Gross," Darcy scoffs at your side, shoving your shoulder playfully. "You're not my type anyway."  
  
You chuckle. "Only because I'm _way_ outta your league," you shoot back.  
  
"And Sam's _totally_ in yours right now," she says as she grabs your shoulders and make you look her in the eye. "Now listen, as your big sister, I'm entitled to give you first date advice," she smiles, "So, that being said; I give you _full_ permission to let this man have his way with you tonight."  
  
"Darce!" You hiss through your teeth, utterly mortified to hear _those_ words come from _her_ mouth. "It's the first date," you remind her a high-pitched whisper, " _No one_ is having their way with _anyone_ tonight!"  
  
"Be that as it may," Darcy smirks, "I slid a few condoms into your clutch while you weren't looking."  
  
"Are you _serious_?!" You shout in a whispered voice. "You're insane!"  
  
"And you're about to go on a date with every soccer mom's wet dream," she says back, low enough for only you to hear, "You'll thank me later."  
  
"I might _kill_ you later," you bite back.  
  
"Okay," she shrugs, "But only _after_ you've told me how well-endowed his is." You don't even give her the satisfaction of reply, quickly turning away from her and opening your bedroom door. "What?" She hisses under her breath, right up behind you as you make your way to your living room. "Dude's probably hung like a horse," she murmurs, making you whip around and give her the _ultimate_ bitch-face. "Okay, okay," she says quickly, putting her hands up in defense, "I'll stop."  
  
"Be _have_ ," you hiss, rolling your eyes pointedly as you turn back around and walk into your living room where Sam's sitting on the couch with Lydia, who _should_ have been in her playroom where Darcy had put her earlier. She's talking to Sam excitedly, showing him every one of her little army action figures and bouncing as she tells him the names of all of them. _This one's Bunny. And—And this one's T-Rex! This is Super Star, because that's what you call me!_  
  
Darcy clears her throat, drawing the attention of Sam and Lydia who wear matching wide-eyed looks when they see you. "Wow, aunt Y/N!" Lydia shouts as she jumps from the couch and runs up to you. "You look like a princess!" She gushes as she looks up you with a mega-watt smile, her messy curls bouncing on her head.  
  
"Thanks, baby," you smile down at her and ruffle her unkempt hair, bringing your gaze up to meet Sam's. He's on his feet now, flowers clutched in his hands as he looks you up and down with wide eyes, mouth open to say something.  
  
"You—You look—"  
  
"Sexy, right?" Darcy jumps in, waggling her brows stupidly. You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut as you hold back the urge to chew her out.  
  
"I uh—I was gonna say _beautiful_ ," Sam laughs nervously, "But um, sexy works, too, I guess."  
  
"Hear that, aunt Y/N?" Lydia asks through a fit of giggles, tugging at the hem of your dress. "Coach Sammy thinks you look _sexy_."  
  
"Okay!" You say, just a _bit_ too loud. "We should go," you force out in a chuckle as you walk up to Sam, giving him the _please save me_ look. He chuckles and nods, handing you the flowers and ushering you to the front door with a hand modestly pressed against your lower back—well, as modest as one can be with their hand right above the curve of your ass.  
  
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" You hear Darcy shout as you exit your house, "Or maybe do!"  
  
"I'mma kill 'er," you say under your breath, accepting Sam's hand when he holds out for you to take so he can help you down the stairs of your porch. "I'm sorry," you tell him, "Darcy can be so extra sometimes. Well, actually, _all the time_."  
  
Sam chuckles, his hand still clutching yours as he guides you to his truck. "Don't worry about it," he shoots you a smile as he opens the passenger side door for you, "My brother's a lot like her, just the male version. If the two weren't already married, they'd probably make a perfect couple."  
  
You let out your own chuckle at the thought, climbing up into his truck. "Oh, uh," you stammer before he can close the door, drawing his attention, "You look kinda sexy, too." Because _fuck_ , he _really_ did. The dark-denim jeans hug his legs and ass perfectly—not that you _notice_. And he's wearing a pale blue button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong, mouth-watering forearms—nope, you _totally_ didn't notice that either. It's all put together with a black-silk tie, which makes you feel like you're not _totally_ out of place wearing a fancy, only-when-the-occasion's-good red dress.  
  
Sam's cheeks flush bright red and he chuckles as he looks down at his feet to hide the fact. "Thank you," he says as he leans against the door, bringing his eyes back up to meet yours. "First date worthy?" He asks, lip twitching with a nervous smile.  
  
" _Totally_ worthy," you smile back reassuringly. He nods, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning like a mad man as he finally shuts the passenger door. You relax back into your seat and heave a deep sigh as Sam rounds the front of the truck, because you're _definitely_ feeling some type of way. The kind that has your stomach in knots and your chest tight with excitement. God, you are _such_ a girl.  
  
Sam lets you fiddle with the radio until you're pulling up to one of the nicest restaurants in town. "No way," you turn to him with a big grin, "We're eating _here_?"  
  
"Yeah, you been here before?" Sam smiles as he pulls into a parking spot near the front and kills the engine.  
  
"Only in my dreams," you murmur. "This is really nice, Sam," you clear your throat, "But this place is _way_ too expensive. I couldn't possibly ask you to pay for this, I’d feel too bad.”  
  
"Well," Sam shoots you a playful smirk, leaning over the console to get closer to you, "Guess you're just gonna hav’ta deal with your guilt over a nice dinner and wine."  
  
"Wine?" You raise a brow in an intrigued way, "I mean, if it's the good stuff—I may be able to be persuaded."  
  
"Whatever you want," he says with a sincere smile, dropping a gentle hand to your knee and squeezing lightly.  
  
"Shit," you chuckle, "You keep talkin' like that, and I may say we just skip dinner entirely."  
  
"I wouldn't be opposed," Sam teases right back.  
  
You snort, thoroughly amused. "Nice try, big guy," you say with a laugh, playfully pushing his hand off your knee, "But you promised me wine and I _never_ turn down wine."  
  
"Duly noted," Sam smiles, pushing his door open and being the complete gentleman when he comes to open yours, his hand out for your use as you climb out of his truck as lady-like as possible so you don't give him an eyeful of your panties beneath your dress—which, at this point, you don’t think he’d mind all that much. You wouldn’t either, if you were being _totally_ and _completely_ honest with yourself.  
  
_Rope in those hormones, you filthy minx._  
  
The inside of the restaurant makes you gasp like an idiot. It's utterly beautiful. All white table cloths, dim, mood-setting lights, and real-silver utensils wrapped up in meticulously folded cloth napkins. And Sam further proves himself the _ultimate gentleman_ when he pulls your chair out for you after he's told the maître d' his last name, making you gush at the fact that he'd called ahead and made the reservation. _Pulling out all the stops_ , you think to yourself when he gently pushes your chair back in before taking his own across from you, _oh yeah, he's **definitely** getting a first date kiss. _  
  
It's an intimate seating arrangement. Sam's not too far away, the square table not being _that_ big, and you can feel the tip of his boots hit the tip of your pumps underneath it. And damn, when he orders an aged Napa Valley red wine in a smooth, deep-vibrato voice, you _totally_ try to ignore the way your thighs press together beneath the table.  
  
"To first dates," he smiles, tilting his filled wine class in an invitation to cheers with yours.  
  
"To first dates," you echo, smirking as you lightly clink your glass against his before taking a sip. "God," you sigh, savoring the way the rich wine slides down your throat smoother than anything you've ever drank before.  
  
"Good?" Sam questions, taking a sip of his own and smiling into the glass, and you _definitely_ aren't zeroed in on the way his pink lips look cradling the clear glass. Or the way his throat bobs as he swallows.  
  
"Perfect," you reply, trying not to sound all breathless and junk, busying yourself with more wine so you have something valid to blame your flushed cheeks on.  
  
When the waiter comes, your eyes scan the menu, wincing at the prices. "Really. Don't worry about it," Sam reassures you with a chuckle when he sees the way you're reading the contents with apprehensive eyes, your lips pursed in an unsure way. You nod, ordering the filet mignon served over a fluffy cloud of creamy mashed potatoes with a side of perfectly spiced, long-stemmed green beans.   
  
"I'll have the same, please," Sam smiles politely at the waiter, whose crisp white dress shirt, perfectly-pressed black slacks and cheesy bowtie would have been comical had you not been in such a fancy joint. "I'm really glad I asked you out," Sam says once the waiter's gone with your orders.  
  
"Me, too," you smile, "Everyone's been trying to unceremoniously shove me at you. I mean, from what I've heard from Jo, Darcy was practically begging her to set us up."  
  
Sam laughs lightly, staring down at the table and shaking his head. "Well, I'm glad she did," he says, leaning in the table as he adds, "Can I tell you a secret?"  
  
You lean in, too, a slow grin on your lips. "Sure," you answer, "I love a good secret."  
  
"You gotta promise you won't tell Lydia I told you," he chuckles.  
  
"Oh no," you groan, your heart dropping in your chest. "I promise," you say nonetheless.  
  
"She told me that you thought I was cute," Sam says, a smile dancing across his face.  
  
"Oh _god_ ," you say under your breath, dropping your head down into your hand as you blush deep red. "That kid's as bad as her mother," you chuckle, bringing your eyes back up to meet Sam's humored ones. "Maybe worse," you add, "I told you she says the craziest things."  
  
"So, you _don't_ think I'm cute?" Sam asks in mock-offense, making you melt in your seat at how fuckin' cute he really _is_.  
  
"I never said that," you answer, gasping dramatically to play the same game he was. "I happen to find you _very_ cute," you smile, "I mean, it's not every day you see a grown man eat goldfish and drink apple juice like he's one of the kids he coaches."  
  
It's Sam's turn to be embarrassed. He quickly lets his head fall into his hands as he laughs adorably, a blush across his cheeks when he finally looks back up at you. "I totally forgot I did that in front of you," he chuckles, swiping a hand down his face as he bites back a grin, "How humiliating."  
  
"No," you smile as you reach across the table to place a hand over his, "It was actually kind of refreshing."  
  
"In what possible way?" Sam scoffs with a toothy grin, completely humored by the idea.  
  
You bite down on your bottom lip. "It was really nice to see you're not afraid to be one of the kids," you tell him, "I, just so happen, to find that _extremely_ attractive. It's a good quality to have, Sam."  
  
"Yeah? Tell my ex-wife that," Sam chuckles before he thinks about it. His eyes immediately widen when he realizes what he'd just told you and he's scrambling to speak. "Oh, fuck—I uh—that just slipped out," he stammers, "I'm _so_ sorry."  
  
You bite back a laugh, so enthralled by how sweetly sincere he looks. "It's okay," you assure him with an honest smile, "We all have our crosses to bear. You have an ex-wife? That's cool. I have a chain of ex-boyfriends who weren't worth shit."  
  
Sam sighs, sounding both relieved and mortified at the same time. "I'm sorry," he apologizes again, "It's just, that's the reason I haven't been dating. It kinda scares me, yanno?"  
  
"I totally understand," you nod, talking a hefty gulp of your wine before continuing, "My last date was in high school nearly a decade ago with a guy named Bucky Andrews. Let's just say, that was the date that made me decide I absolutely _hated_ dating."  
  
"So, uh," Sam clears his throat, "What made you wanna go on a date with _me_?"  
  
"Honestly?" You question.  
  
"Honestly," Sam nods.  
  
"You're . . . different," you smile, "And I _know_ , that sounds so damned cheesy, but I mean, you're just a really nice guy. You're great with Lydia and all the other kids on your team, and you're so sweet. You bought me flowers, for the love of God. A guy's never done that for me before. And you brought me _here_ ," you gesture to the restaurant, "Most of the guys I dated back then thought the back of their dad's hatchback overlooking Kissing Point was the perfect date spot."  
  
"Kissing Point?" Sam smirks.  
  
"It was the famous make out spot when I was a teenager," you scoff as you chuckle, "And _really_? Everything I just said and _that's_ what you took away from it?"  
  
"Okay, okay, you're right, I'm sorry," Sam laughs, shaking his head. "Thank you," he makes a point to say, "I um, I really appreciate what you said. All of it.”  
  
You nod, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You go to say a something else but the waiter comes back to the table, dropping off your food and refilling your wine glasses. You thank him with a smile, your mouth watering when you look down at your food. You and Sam make small talk as you eat, both too absorbed in the tender steak and buttery potatoes to really make an effort. And once you both realize it, you chuckle around mouthfuls, rolling your eyes and shaking your heads.  
  
When the waiter drops off the bill, Sam playfully denies you when you ask to look it so you can see the grand total, swiftly sliding his card into it and placing it down into his lap, a deep, dimpled grin on his face. "Fine," you say in defeat, "But, at least, let me leave the tip."  
  
"Deal," Sam smiles.  
  
You grin in triumph, reaching for your clutch and pulling it open, and much to your dismay, a handful of condoms spill out onto the table from being shoved so tightly inside. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open even wider, a deep, scarlet blush filling your entire face and creeping down your neck. You look up to meet Sam's eyes when you've gained the nerve, seeing that he's so desperately trying to hold back a laugh. "Okay," you say as you quickly gather the foil packets to shove them back in your clutch quite clumsily, "I know how this must look to you."  
  
"Presumptuous?" He lifts a brow.  
  
"Yeah . . . whatever _that_ means," you reply, mortified and unbearably embarrassed, "But I promise it was _all_ Darcy's doing." Sam drops his head and snickers to himself. "This is so _not_ funny," you whine, pouting just a little as you drop your face down into your hands.  
  
"I—I know but," he laughs, eyes watering with unshed tears as he tries to reel it in, "It's just—you—you should have seen your face." He has to cover his mouth because he's about to burst. "You wanna know something even funnier?"  
  
"Is it gonna make me feel even _more_ like an ass?" You sigh.  
  
Sam just smiles before reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, looking around before pulling out a full strip of condoms. "Oh, _God_!" You say uncontrollably loud, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth as Sam shoves them back into his pocket so no one sees them when they look over to see what all the ruckus is about. "Your brother?" You manage through your fit of laughter, feeling a million times better when Sam nods, and chuckling deep in his throat.  
  
"We have assholes for siblings," he says with a shake of his head, quickly wiping at his eyes and trying to catch his breath.  
  
”At least they had our best interests at heart," you snicker, admiring how fun it is being with Sam. "They just wanted to make sure we were protected."  
  
"Stop," Sam smothers another laugh, "My stomach is already killin' me from trying to hold back the laughs."  
  
"Then let's get outta here," you smile, "Let's go to the car so we can just let it all out."  
  
Sam nods with a smile, getting to his feet after placing his card back in his wallet and rounding the table to grab your hand, both of you grinning like fools as you break out into a half-jog to leave the restaurant. You probably look like idiots, but you can't seem to find a single fuck in the world to give.  
  
When you climb into the car, it's completely silent until you and Sam look over at each other. You quickly dissolve into an ugly, knee-slapping fit of boisterous laughter. It's slightly wine-induced and you think that you've never had more fun with anyone in your whole life. And looking at Sam, lost in loud, carefree laughter, has you thinking you've never fallen harder for someone. It's such a heart-fluttering sight to behold. To see him really let go, so humored and so gorgeous that you've stopped laughing entirely, just watching him with a smitten gaze.  
  
"Wh-What?" He asks through his laughter when he turns to look at you, trying to calm down as he swipes at his eyes and heaves a deep breath, instantly growing a bit more serious when he sees the way you're looking at him. Like you're _really_ seeing him.  
  
"N-Nothing, it's just," you blush, "You're better than I imagined."  
  
Sam clears his throat. "R-Really?" He questions in a low, unsure voice, leaning over the center console just a bit.  
  
You nod, leaning over towards him as well. You don't stop until you can feel his heavy breathing fan out across your face, your mouth mere inches away from his. "Um, ca-can I . . . kiss you?" You ask in a whisper, your eyes meeting his nervously.  
  
"Please," he whispers back. You sigh out relief as you press forward, sealing your lips to kiss him sweetly for just a few seconds, but when you pull back to gauge his reaction, it's like neither of you can control yourselves and you're both diving in for more. You're cradling his face as he does the same to yours, his long fingers sliding into your hair as your lips move in a more frenzied, needy way, tongues clashing hot and slick and so damn intoxicating. And when it starts teetering between both overwhelming and not _nearly enough_ , you find yourself climbing across the console to slide into his lap, wedged between his strong chest and the steering wheel.  
  
You card your hands into his long, unbelievably-soft hair, holding his mouth to yours as you lap at his tongue, a keening moan falling from between your lips and melting into his. He echoes it, his hands sliding up your sides and back down again to grab your ass through your dress—which is _totally_ okay with you because his hands feel _good_. You pull away from him panting, sighing his name when he immediately goes for your neck, mouthing the underside of your jaw. You tip your head back to give him easier access, growing needier with every pass of his tongue on your skin.   
  
When you let your eyes flutter open, you're staring up the roof of his truck and it's only then you remember you're still in the parking lot of the restaurant. "Sam. Sam, wait," you breathe, gently pushing his face away to look down into his eyes.  
  
"I'm—I'm sorry," he stammers, a look of horror and shame in his eyes, "I—I just—I couldn't control myself."  
  
"No, no, no," you quickly say, bringing your hands up to cup his face, a chuckle on your lips when you say, "It's just . . . we're still in the restaurant parking lot and I'm not much of an exhibitionist. I want you, Sam, I do, but—just not this way."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I get it," he grins, "S'not the most romantic of places."  
  
"Not really," you grin back, leaning into him to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Let's just put it on ice until we get back to my place," you tell him.  
  
"So . . . you still want to—"  
  
"God, yes," you breathe out, "You're drivin' me crazy."  
  
The drive back to your house is excruciatingly slow, but you breathe out a sigh of relief when you notice Darcy's car isn't in your driveway anymore. However, your elation quickly turns to disappointment when there's resistance from Sam when you try to tug him into your house.  
  
"What—What’s wrong?" You ask him, trying not to let him see you frown _too_ much.  
  
"I'm sorry," he shakes his head, "It's just, I'm _really_ trying to be a gentleman tonight. I mean it's only our first date." You nod, and Sam immediately brings your eyes back up to meet yours when you look down at the ground, his hands cupping your cheeks tender. "But hey, hey, hey," he says quickly, "I don't want you to think I don't want to because _fuck_ , Y/N—I _really_ do. I just . . . want to take things slow, just for a little while until we get to know each other better. I promise we'll get there. Hey, look at me." You do, feeling just a tiny bit foolish. "I want you," he whispers with unwavering reassurance, "Please know that."  
  
You nod again, sighing deeply when he leans in a gives you a long, sweet, toe-curling kiss. All the doubt and disappointment just washes away as he presses his lips into yours firmly, his lips moving slowly as he gently tangles his fingers in your hair. And you put everything you've got into kissing him back, fisting the back of his shirt as you take his lead and move your lips in a slow, easy drag. It stops before things get too heated, but you're not disappointed this time, and there's a dopey, dazed smile on your lips when he pulls back a small grin and hooded hazel eyes.  
  
"Are you coming to the game tomorrow?" He asks in a whisper, tucking your hair behind your ear sweetly.  
  
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," you say dreamily, laughing lightly and shrugging your shoulders when you add, "I heard the coach is pretty hot, so I think I'm gonna try to get his number."  
  
Sam chuckles, deep and rich. "Well, let me know how that goes," he smiles, backing away from you slowly. "Goodnight, Y/N," he says in a low, body-buzzing way.  
  
"Yeah," you grin, "It was. Bye, Sam."  
  
He nods, giving you one more chuckled smile before retreating to his car and disappearing into the night. You sigh deeply, leaning back against your front door with a huff as you watch his tail lights fade away.   
  
Let's just say, your Hitachi gets _a lot_ of love that night.

* * *

  
  
"Why the hell didn't you call me last night?!" Darcy shouts as soon as you walk up to the bleachers where her, Dave, Jo and Dean (you guess) are sitting in the front row.  
  
"Um because I didn't want to?" You shoot back as you sit down beside her. "I'm kinda pissed at you right now," you say, crossing your arms over your chest and smothering a smile.  
  
"What? Why?" She asks.  
  
"Oh, I don't know," you say sarcastically, "Maybe because when I opened my purse last night condoms flew _everywhere_!"  
  
The four people next to you bust out in a laugh fest, slapping each other on the shoulder as they hack, cough, and sputter with amusement. "Okay, you are _so_ exaggerating," Darcy finally says, wheezing as she tries to find her breathing, "I'm sure they didn't fly out everywhere!"  
  
"Oh, they _definitely_ did," you roll your eyes, "All over the damn dinner table! And it's all _your_ fault!"  
  
"Well, did you use any of them?" She asks, growing more serious in demeanor.  
  
"No!" You scoff, "If you _must_ know, we _didn't_. We decided to take things slow, get to know each other before we do anything of the sort."  
  
"Bore- _ring_ ," Darcy dismisses you with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes.  
  
"Well, I think that's a great decision," Jo pipes up, giving you a reassuring smile. She gently slaps Dean's chest when he goes to disagree, a warning in her eyes as she stares him down.  
  
"Thank you, Jo," you smile back, narrowing your eyes at Darcy and immaturely sticking your tongue out at her.  
  
"Okay, so now that we know Sam didn't snake the pipes," she starts, and you heave a dramatic sigh as you hear Dean chuckle, "How'd it all go? The date, I mean."  
  
Everyone around you is all ears, their eyes on you, just _waiting_ for your answer. "It was perfect, Darce," you gush, turning towards her with a dazed smile, "He took me to that really nice restaurant down town and we drank wine, and talked and laughed. It was just—ugh!—it was magical."  
  
"Did you, at _least_ , kiss?" Darcy asks exasperatedly, eyes pleading for _some_ kind of spicy details. You blush and bite back a smile, slowly nodding your head. "No. _Way_!" She giggles, "Was it good?"  
  
"Dee," Dave groans, totally over all the girl talk.  
  
"Shut up," Darcy chuckles, waving him off and turning her attention back to you. "So? Is he a good kisser or what?"  
  
"The best," you say, falling into a fit of giggles with your big sister, your hands clasped in hers as you both bounce in your seats excitedly. You both quickly dry it up when Sam comes waltzing up to greet Dean and Jo with hugs, eventually going down the line until he gets to you. You hold your breath as he leans down to place a quick-yet-tender kiss on your cheek, smiling as he backs away to gather up his tiny team. You immediately fall back into giggles with Darcy, making fools of yourselves but not caring one bit.  
  
After the game—another win for Sam's team—you all go out for ice cream to celebrate. You and Sam are taking up one side of the booth with Lydia in your lap; Darcy and Dave are sitting across from you, _grossly_ feeding each other ice cream, and Jo, Dean, and Jamie are in the booth next to yours. It feels good, being surrounded by everyone, laughing and enjoying each other's company.   
  
Sam's got his arm thrown over the back of the booth behind your shoulders, smiling as his licks at a double-scoop cone of Rocky Road. You yelp when Lydia lunges for _your_ ice cream, lapping up a big scoop as she giggles. "Hey, get lost, short stuff," you chuckle, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist and pulling her away from your cone.  
  
"Aunt Y/N?" She questions, her wide eyes looking up into yours.  
  
"Yeah, doodle bug?"  
  
"What's a condom?"  
  
You gawk at her while all the other adults in your group bust up, the two kids looking at all of them with confused expressions. You sputter to reply, cheeks redder than cherries and eyes wide with shock.  
  
"Baby," Darcy looks at Lydia, trying to collect herself, "It's something aunt Y/N didn't get a chance to use last night."  
  
You throw your head back against Sam's arm, covering your face with one hand and turning to bury it in his shoulder as he lets out a humored laugh. He turns his head and presses his cheek against yours, snickering your ear, which makes you smile and shake your head. "So _not_ funny," you whisper to him with a chuckle.  
  
" _Way_ funny," he says back, making everyone around you scoff in disgust, Dean's comment of _get a room_ making your booths laugh all over again.

* * *

  
  
The next three months are filled with amazing date after amazing date with Sam. You two make out like teenagers in a movie theater on your second one, and Sam wins you a stuff koala bear on your third when the local fair comes to town. Then, on your sixth date, Sam finally asks you to be his girlfriend by spelling **BE MINE** out in Scrabble pieces at the rec center, where he volunteers every Tuesday and Thursday to help the after-school kids whose parents work 9-5's. You said yes without hesitation— _also_ spelling it out in Scrabble pieces.  
  
You took Lydia to practice on the days Sam held it, which Darcy didn't mind because she honestly hated doing it. You provided snacks for the team whenever it was your turn, switching up every once in while and bringing cupcakes or made-from-scratch cookies, which Sam loved almost more than the kids. There was one time he playfully smeared buttercream frosting on your lips and kissed it clean away, sending the kids into a fit of _yuck!_ and _gross!_  
  
And when you and Sam _do_ finally take it to that next level, you're glad you waited, because it made it even more special knowing that you were in a defined relationship with respective titles.   
  
It had stated as a movie night with the two of cuddled up on your couch, but it quickly developed into so much more when Sam's hands stated roaming and his lips found that spot under your ear, kissing and nibbling it the way he had learned you liked. Clothes went flying and soon naked skin slid against naked skin, the two of you gasping and moaning and sighing in pleasure as Sam's hips moved with purpose and skillful speed, drawing you closer and closer until you were tumbling into back-to-back releases, crying out his name and clawing at his shoulders and down his back, sinking your fingernails into his firm backside when he emptied inside the condom with a shout, a roared, throaty praise of your name falling from his lips.  
  
From then on, you and Sam explored the world of sex as a "newlywed" couple. You learned each other's kinks and desires, learned hard-limits and made up a safeword for the times when the exploring got a little too overwhelming. You did it in all kinds of positions, both new and traditional, and learned you were more flexible than you knew possible. You experienced your most intense orgasm the night Sam took you from behind, your arched back pressed against his chest, one of his hands squeezing your breasts and the other shoved between your thighs to quickly rub your swollen, throbbing clit, his cock long, hard, and thick as he buried it deep inside you with quick snaps of his hips. Your throat was sore the next morning from screaming so loud, and Sam made you some honey-lemon tea to help soothe it—butt-ass naked in your kitchen.  
  
The two of you developed a healthy give-and-take style in your relationship—mostly in the form of orgasms. Like, on the days where you were stressed and annoyed, Sam would talk you through it with sincere eyes and then eat you out until you were trembling and overstimulated. And when Sam was feeling down about himself, you'd kiss every inch of his body whispering sweet reassurance and suck his cock until he hit a toe-curling release.   
  
Sam was the first to say _I love you_. It was right after your first fight as a couple. It was over something stupid and pointless, but shouts were exchanged and you went to bed angry. It didn't settle right for either of you and you both laid wide awake in your bed back-to-back—you didn't believe in banishing anyone to the couch. You had rolled over at the same time Sam did and the words came tumbling out of his mouth before you could say you were sorry. You cried and Sam combed a hand through your hair, curling you into his chest as he whispered the words again and again until you both fell into a peaceful sleep.  
  
You said it a few days later when you had fully processed Sam _actually_ saying it. You whispered it into his ear as he sat at his kitchen table going over plays and positions for the next pee wee soccer game, drinking his weight his black coffee. He smiled like a fool and dragged you into his lap, and, needless to say, he didn't get any more work done that morning.  
  
Everything was okay. Sam was yours and you were his.  
  
You _still_ needed to thank a few people for butting in.

* * *

  
  
**_[Epilogue]_**  
  
You smile as you walk towards the bleachers. It was a new season and you still couldn't believe Lydia was eight now; just one year away from moving up from pee wee to a higher class. Sam was really torn up about it, but he'd still get to see her on a regular basis when she _did_ eventually level up—he _was_ practically part of the family after all.  
  
"You _bitch_!" You hear Darcy shout as you stroll up to her and Jo. "Let us see the rock!"  
  
You chuckle as you roll your eyes, bringing your left hand up and smiling as you watch your engagement ring sparkle in the summer sunrays beating down. Both Darcy and Jo gasp, question after question spilling from their mouths. _How'd he pop the question? Was there music playing? Did he dick you down after?_  
  
"Ladies, ladies, one question at a time," you feign exhaustion dramatically, "I'm so tired from dragging the heavy ring around, that my brain can't take all these questions all at once!"  
  
"Oh, shut _up_ ," Darcy scoffs, shoving your shoulder before pulling you into a tight hug. You hear the emotion crackle in her voice when she says, "I'm so happy for you, little sister."  
  
"Don't you _dare_ ," you say with a chuckle, tears filling your eyes on their own whim. "I already cried enough last night when he asked me," you tell her, cursing yourself for being emotional. When she pulls back to look at you, you both break, lunging at each other for another hug and laughing with happiness as tears fall down your faces, dampening your cheeks and leaving salt on your lips.  
  
"Okay, okay," Darcy says, finally pulling away to quickly wipe her face. "You bitch," she chuckles, "You ruined my makeup."  
  
"You started it, you tramp," you laugh lightheartedly, swiping under your eyes and looking down to see black smudged on your fingers. You hug Jo next, laughing into her shoulder when she tells what it’s like being married to a Winchester and playfully warns you that leaving their entire underwear collection on the bathroom floor is _definitely_ hereditary.  
  
Dean comes up a few minutes later and crushes you into a tight bear hug. "Welcome to the family, sis," he chuckles when he releases you, his hands gripping your shoulders when he adds, "Now if you ever need me to put Sam in his place, don't hesitate to call."  
  
"Hey," Sam pouts as he pulls you away, "You got a woman of your own. This one's mine." He smiles as he drops a kiss to your lips, chuckling as he wipes the remaining streaks of mascara off your cheeks with his thumbs.  
  
"Uncle Coach Sammy!" Lydia shouts, "The game's about to start!"  
  
"Wait for me after the game?" He asks you with a smile, his eyes shining with nothing but love.  
  
"Always."


End file.
